At 7:36 pm tonight — roughly an hour from when I’m writing this — it’ll have been two years since you died. I’m running out of things to write about you, but I still think about you every day. Every day, I walk by these photos sitting in our living room. And every day, I feel the small pang of sadness that you’re gone.
I don’t know why it matters that it’s been exactly two years since you died. I guess … it just does, somehow.
I miss you, mom.